


Pièce montée

by tzigane, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Series: Collations [5]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, Hannibal is Hannibal, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 19:34:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3541406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tzigane/pseuds/tzigane, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He could feel it down to his bones, and he couldn't help shuddering in reaction. It was there, it was all there, and the crying was less because of the pain and the overload of sensation and more because of what rested on the edge of his nerves, of his knowing. There was no understanding there, no human kindness, nothing <i>real</i>, and realizing that the world was coming apart around him was a fucking bad time to hit the edge of pleasure the way that he did just then.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pièce montée

He'd never sweated so much without being in the throes of a murderer inspired fever dream, and it should have been a warning for him when Hannibal had actually set Gatorade on the bedside table before joining him, next to the lube and the cock rings.

Clearly he should have considered it a hell of a lot more seriously before they had started, just at a guess. He should have considered it until he decided it was a bad idea, because fucking fucking fuck. The fact that Hannibal only sat beside him and smiled while he took him apart made it even worse.

He didn't have to be restrained; he held on, he held as still as he could manage, he restrained himself as he let Hannibal finish, he hoped it was finish, opening him up with a vibrator. "Please, Christ, Hannibal, please..."

"Please is such a beautiful word when it falls from your lips." Please and he wanted to beg. He needed to beg, but he was full and shuddering with the feel of it, and he didn't know if he could take any more.

He didn't know if he could stand if, when, he hoped it was when Hannibal did it, finally. There was enough lube for it, and he wanted, had wanted for what felt like forever when the vibrator finally started to pull out of him.

"You know." Having a conversation with a man who was so self-possessed when Will was falling apart was maddening. Worse than maddening, it was... it was much too much. "I love to see you spread for me. To open, to... Hmmm." Humming, and no. No, that wasn't something else, something bigger, and he couldn't help the broken sound that fell from his mouth.

He exhaled, half a sob, and shut his eyes tightly. "What're, what're you doing, I can't, Christ..."

"You can." God, he couldn't. He couldn't, but he didn't let go. He couldn't let go, because Hannibal was opening himself up further, using something else, and he was going to die. He was going to fall apart completely, and all he could do was shudder and allow tears to leak from beneath his eyelids.

"Is that your fucking _fist_?" He almost howled it, looking down and all he could see was Hannibal's forearm, and his bent head looking down at something interesting.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, and he gasped, took in a heavy breath, shaking. "Not yet." So offhand. So fucking offhand, and he wanted to say no, he did. He did, but he was being jostled gently, and ohhhh... Oh god. Oh god.

He stretched his legs wider, trying to work out what to do with his hips, with, with anything, with himself, fingers knotted tightly in the bedding. "You're, you're a complete bastard when you do this. I, oh god that feels too much."

"That... is interesting to hear, Will. You so often feel more than anyone I have ever known." That seemed more like contemplation than actual interest. God. "I love to see you when you are... feeling." Feeling his ass expand, and he sobbed, shuddering violently.

He twisted, flailed for a moment, and made himself exhale slowly, tried to pin himself down mentally, concentrating on Hannibal. On Hannibal's hand, on his face, on his _delight_ , as palpable as if he were hosting a stunning dinner party.

"Four fingers, Will. You have the better part of my palm inside of you now. You should try to be a bit more still." Try. Try, when he had the better part of a hand inside of him. Oh god. Oh fucking god.

He should have just curled up for a nap after he struggled through the Ripper case, but no, no, he'd asked for grounding, for help feeling himself and he knew what it meant. "Trying."

"And you are so beautiful when you try." Faint praise, perhaps, but it was. It was so good to hear, and he panted heavily, every inch of him feeling what was happening. It was a bizarre ricochet of sensation, that every inch of his body could feel the way that he was expanding around Hannibal's fucking hand. "Exquisite, my dear Will."

Staring down at him with a heavy, hard look in his eyes, and Will kept breathing, gulps of air as he tried to push down ragged sharp edges of reactions. It was oddly humiliating, no comfort in the pain this time, just sensation. Too much of it, and he didn't. Didn't think this was what he wanted, but it was too late to change his mind because oh god. Oh god, that was _more_ , that was more, that was more, and he was yelling or maybe screaming and then he could feel the tight ring of his ass clamp down and it was less, it was less, but oh. Oh fucking god fucking god fucking god because that had to be Hannibal's wrist. Had to be, and he wasn't even sure he was hard anymore, but there was a mouth on his cock, suckling him, and he was falling apart.

It didn't matter if he came or if he was hard because he was gone, shattered in the face of pain and pleasure and too much, too much, and Hannibal knew he was sensitive, it was vindictive, it was, it was, he could feel what it was, he could taste it at the edge of his mind.

He could feel it down to his bones, and he couldn't help shuddering in reaction. It was there, it was all there, and the crying was less because of the pain and the overload of sensation and more because of what rested on the edge of his nerves, of his knowing. There was no understanding there, no human kindness, nothing _real_ , and realizing that the world was coming apart around him was a fucking bad time to hit the edge of pleasure the way that he did just then. Pleasure and pain and fucking, fucking agonizing feeling and knowing, _knowing_ , and fucking god.

Hannibal with his cock in his mouth, swallowing him down when he came, clenching hard around his wrist, and knowing, afraid to finish thinking the thought because then he'd know and no matter how many stupid things Will had done in his life, he didn't want to die.

Death was already much too close to his skin.

By the time he came down, he was limp, nearly boneless, over-sensitive and trembling in Hannibal's bed. The man himself was standing over him, looking down on him with the light behind his head, and god. He had to hold off on that realization because he was utterly vulnerable lying there, all to pieces.

He leaned, fumbling for the Gatoraide to drink, hands shaking, fear rising up high enough to taste it at the back of his throat as he took a deep swig, breathing hard. "Suppose, suppose I got my hopes up. But thank you."

There was a hum of a sort, and Will could feel the tension ramping up. He hoped it was just him, but he knew better. He did. "Yes. We have had quite the interesting run of it, haven't we." Statement. Not question.

He was pretty sure that throwing the Gatoraide at Hannibal's head wouldn't actually work as a distraction, but he took his time, took another sip, and then capped it off. "Why?"

It was the stillness that terrified him. "You know why, Will."

He did. He did. It was best to keep the most skilled hunter distracted, to get under his skin, and to ruin him. A living humiliation fit for the Ripper's wall. Will nodded, didn't shift his legs yet, but bolted and hurled the Gatoraide bottle at his head as hard as he could.

The sound of it wasn't all that fantastic, but he did hear it when Hannibal hit the wall or maybe the chest of drawers, and by then he was running. Barefoot, yes, naked, yes, but at least he was running, which was the best he was going to get under the circumstances.

He staggered, tripping and yet managing to keep upright as he headed down the stairs at full tilt, to the kitchen where he knew he'd left his clothes, and there was a door handy for escaping. He just needed to tell Jack, Jack could solve it even if Hannibal killed him.

Especially if Hannibal killed him, because Will was under no misconception about his own abilities to fight off someone with Hannibal's strength -- particularly when he was weak-kneed and shaking from having a fucking hand in his ass.

He could hear Hannibal coming after him, pace unhurried like something out of a horror film. Well, he damned sure wasn't the virgin in this scenario, so he could only imagine how that would end even as he stumbled across the kitchen and fumbled for his pants, his cell phone, hell. His pocket knife, for all the good that might do him. His fucking gun was in his truck, nestled in its goddamn case.

Two quick thumb gestures that made him glad he'd never bothered to put a key lock on dialed Jack's number and he held it to his ear, backing quickly toward the kitchen door to unlock it. He didn't bother with his pocket knife, there was a kitchen cleaver on hand, a lot easier to reach. Pick up, pick up, now was not the time to have to leave a voicemail...

"Will." Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, because Hannibal was standing there, hands in his pocket. "Do you really think this will make any difference? At all?"

"You killed, you killed how many people?" He heard the phone ringing, ringing and ringing, and then Jack picked up. "Jack! Hannibal's the Chesapeake ripper!"

"Will, you are hallucinating." He sounded so serious but the expression on his face was as mocking as his voice was loud. "Will, you need to calm down and put down the cleaver."

"Oh, fuck you," Will muttered, "you serve them up in your dinner parties, and you smile because you like feeding society's best other people. Take them down a notch."

 _"Will? What's going on?"_ Like it wasn't obvious. Christ, sometimes he wondered about the rest of the world.

"Will, just put down the cleaver." Smug smiling fucking prick.

"I just put together who the Ripper is, It's Hannibal, he's been playing us, he didn't want me to work out it was him. His organ removals, they're in the meals, he cooks them..."

 _"Where are you?"_ That was more like it.

"Will."

Oh.

Shit.

Shit, because the man moved fast, and Will's knees were still fucking weak, hardly able to support him, and fucking fucking fuck.

"His house. Hurry." He kept a clutch on the phone, and staggered backwards, knife at the ready.

He wasn't sure how much good it would do. Hannibal was close, was watching him with a flat gaze that was terrifying, and oh, god. God. He'd been sleeping with the man, he'd let him do... so much to him, and now they were here and oh god he was so fucked.

He was fucked, but he held onto the phone tightly. "Stay away."

"I can't do that, Will. I am sure that you can understand why." Yes, and he had a fucking butcher knife, coming closer step by step.

"Because you're a serial killer." He needed to say it repeatedly, needed to make it feel real, as he backed out into the hallway again, and bolted down the hall.

The sad thing about running through somebody else's house in an attempt to get away from them was that it was _somebody else's house_. It was inevitable that Hannibal would know it better than he did, and when he turned the corner and found himself face to face with a lunatic holding a knife, he just barely managed to throw himself back and out of the way.

Hannibal came after him, moving faster than he would have thought possible. "Oh, Will. Why did you have to decide this now?"

"You! I finally saw through you, how, how did you keep it hidden for so long?" He found himself in the study, which was a hell of a problem. There was furniture all over the place, and it was probably the single most dangerously familiar place in Hannibal's house.

"Because some things," Hannibal told him softly, still stalking after him, "some things must be hidden." And with that, he lunged.

He didn't expect the way it cut through him like ice, sharp and cold at the same time. Pinned him against the bookcase. "You, you had..." Everything anyone could want, and it didn't matter except for the bodies.

"Shhh. Shhh, Will. Relax. It won't hurt for long. The shock will set in, and you will stop feeling. Relax."

And Jack, Jack would come, Jack would find him, and that was some small comfort. He tried to pull back, and seized, twisting raggedly before he slashed out with the hatchet he was holding.

Even through the pain and the rising shock, he recognized that he had actually damaged Hannibal, done something to him. Maybe gotten the femoral artery or... he had no idea what, but it seemed to have worked. Seemed.

Oh god.

He staggered back, and the knife stayed imbedded in bone and muscle and Will was mostly sure he was going to die leaned up against the bookcase. Mostly sure, and no one could possibly get there in time. No one would, and he, they, they would both die. He had always known that it would end badly.

Will had just never thought it would end like this.

He had a lot of thoughts about how he was going to die. It was part of his job, to think about death, to imagine himself in death, but not slowly bleeding out on the floor of Hannibal's study.

Time went funny after a while. Blood loss did that, Will had figured out, and he was shocked to realize during one of those strobes of weird time that Jack was there. There were words, and things, and then...

And then, somewhere along the way, even that was gone.

~*~*~*~

Hospital time was unreal. It was jumpy and slow, and fast, and he half remembered trying to combat one of the doctors, or a nurse, but he wasn't sure. Mostly he wanted out of the hospital, and he was tired of antiseptic and losing time all over again.

For a while, he slept. When he woke next, Jack was sitting there. "Hey."

Well. That was anticlimactic.

"I want you to remember that the first thing I asked is where the hell did you find him," Will said after a moment or twelve of playing words over in his head.

Jack leaned forwards. "Not far from where we found you, actually. You had, ah. Given him a definite, um. Well. Let's just say it was a bit more than a circumcision."

He'd meant past tense, very past tense, back when Jack had sent Hannibal after him, irony of ironies. Will turned that fact over in his head, replayed the placement of the blade. "He survived?" 

Jack nodded. "Although I expect he might wish otherwise considering what you did to him."

It felt a little awkward for Jack to be making a joke, and Will closed his eyes against Jack's too-serious expression. Ha-- Dr. Lecter had hardly used it, from what Will could tell. Dr. Lecter. He was going to have to compartmentalize a lot of things, starting now. "Glad you didn't write me off."

The sound of Jack shifting was as telling as sight might have been. "Just because I didn't think Lecter would be good for you on a personal level doesn't mean I would write you off, Will."

"DNA's going to be busy." And that was just his on hand supplies, never mind everything that had been disposed of in the gastronomic way. He was very carefully not thinking, not thinking, not letting himself touch on any of his arrangements with Hannibal. Evidence of him was going to be all over Hannibal's office, his living space. And now there was going to have to be a trial.

Just thinking about it made him sick, as though he didn't have enough of a problem at the moment. The fact that there was a kind of horror movie ticker tape Hannibal running in the back if his head didn't help. "I'll do my best to be sure you're kept out of this."

Like that would work. Freddie Lounds was already undoubtedly working at the edges of what had happened. It wouldn't take long.

"While I appreciate the sentiment, I know that's not going to happen." He moved a little, twisting accidentally, and felt sharp pain at the motion. "Who's taking care of my dogs?"

"It's taken care of." That wasn't an answer at all, and Jack obviously knew it because he raised his hand. "Alana has been going every other day. I go the days that she doesn't."

"Thanks." He didn't want to ask what his injuries were, didn't want to think about what kind of scene they'd stumbled on, with him naked and them both bleeding.

"Yeah." Jack took a deep breath and glanced to the side. "So, I should probably apologize for sending him after you. And for being a complete bastard."

"Yeah, it hasn't helped. I'm..." He glanced down, looking at Jack's hands. He'd been picking at his cuticles, nervous hands. "I was falling apart, and he was the lifeboat that kept circling."

Christ. Yeah, that look, that wasn't good. "I knew I needed to get you somebody, I knew. I just... made a bad choice."

"He was charming enough. Fooled most of upper class Baltimore and the FBI." Will closed his eyes again. There was going to be a spate of eating disorders, running rampant. 

And mostly, he just wished for that calm of sleeping on his office in a small bed, curled up safe and protected, Winston snoring and Mirabelle occasionally barking in her sleep. All he wanted was comfort. All he wanted was to be alone and to curl into himself and never come out again.

"I'm sorry, Will."

"There's no way I'm going to avoid the trial, is there?" Will knew he was asking a question he already knew the answer to, but it was the texture of everything he knew falling apart.

Jack's voice was quiet when he spoke. "No. No, Will. There isn't."

"Mmm." He scooted down lower in the bed. "What organs am I missing?"

"Nothing. It was close. They had to do some repairs to your liver and your bowels, but..." But. "You're going to be fine, Will."

No, no he wasn't, and he shook his head slowly, sucking in a hard breath. "We, I can't. I'm not going to be able to do this anymore."

"Will..."

"No."

Just. No. Not ever. Not ever again.

"I, I can't. I've been in such a bad place, I'm still, my life's gone to hell in a hand basket, I've been napping in a dog bed in his office. I've been sleeping with a serial killer. Who helped us on how, how many cases, Jack?" New appeals, new trials, he could see it all.

Jack wouldn't look at him. "More than any of us want to talk about. He was helping us before this. Before any of it."

"Miriam Lass." He could have been that, could have gotten too close right from the start and been ended right from the start, too

"Yes." Yes, and that was painful. It was all painful, and more than just the feelings that kept washing painfully over him. Will knew he had a button to press somewhere.

He twisted a little, let his eyes scan the bed, the bedside, hand pawing to see if he could find it. "It's over, now. We know who the ripper is."

It surprised him when Jack's hand closed on his, and the pump was in it. "I know, Will. It's over. It's... all over."

He depressed the button, and looked up at the ceiling instead of at Jack. Nothing felt real anymore, not really, and Hannibal had been... so bright, so intense, whatever part of him he'd shown Will, there had been nothing else like it. And that was gone, whatever vestige of the man he'd been interacting with had been shed smoothly, telling him to drop the cleaver, smiling like a wolf and thank god Jack hadn't listened to Hannibal. "Thanks. And for watching my dogs."

"No problem." Even if it was, and the morphine took the edge off, made his eyes droop. One sigh, and he shifted, and somewhere along the way...

The world went away.


End file.
